


A Million Miles from Home

by Melbell-lings (Melee)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Pre-WWII AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melee/pseuds/Melbell-lings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s forgotten everything.”</p><p>Canada looked up from his cup of tea. “What?”</p><p>“Shit’s being stirred up in Europe. We need England back, and you’re helping.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Million Miles from Home

“He’s forgotten everything.”

Canada looked up from his cup of tea. “What?”

America was leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees. He seemed so much older like that. “His new government. Decided they wanted a brand new nation. So, they, like, reset him or something. Remember France after the Revolution?”

Canada assumed he meant the first one, when, as a baby, he ran up to his mentor only to be pushed off the expensive silk with a scowl. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Shit’s being stirred up in Europe. We need England back, and you’re helping.” America got up and exited the room, not even waiting for the other.

Canada stayed sitting and fiddled his fingers for a while. Then, he trailed after his brother.

~~~~~

England focused on Canada, then slowly slide his gaze to America. “Who are you?”

And Canada felt his heart drop through his chest.

~~~~~

“We’re screwed,” America groaned and threw his suitcase on the bed. Canada, on the other hand, popped his open and began properly sorting the contents into drawers.

It had been a long day. After introductions, long anecdotes and countless history books, nothing had jogged England’s memory. Canada understood America’s frustrations, he really did. But, he did not relish the idea of sharing a room with someone this irritable.

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,” America glared and Canada scoffed.

“I just don’t understand the urgency.” Canada inspected his shirts and set the wrinkled ones aside to be pressed.

“Oh right, you won’t believe what’s really happening.” Canada ignored him. America spread out on the bed and sighed. “Haven’t you at least read what Germany’s boss wrote? Now that England’s commie, dontcha think for a second that he won’t try for the Island and command of the Commonwealth.”

“He’ll never control me,” Canada muttered, but America either didn’t hear or didn’t believe him.

America groaned. “I thought that at least his favourite would jog his memory.”

~~~~~

Canada was not England’s favourite. Not now as a member of the Commonwealth or as a colony. Sure, he was always important, but England only visited before popping down to the colonies where the real money was.

Yet, Canada treasured all of England’s stays as a youth. His eyes lit when young Canada peeked around the corner to see who the visitor was, and he always had some new trinket for Canada.

Even as Canada grew, and England’s visits became less and less, his significance never lessened, but never grew either. Canada had his first hard drink with England as he bemoaned his troubles to the adolescent after a particularly troubling meeting. This became a ritual for the two, ending with Canada snoring against England, fingers tangled in his vest, same as when he was a child.

England had always viewed Canada as a child, as his. That Canada would do whatever he said and be happy about it. However, Canada grew, and though he still wanted the attention a child craves, he did not want the pervasive expectation that he would do as commanded. So, Canada grew and encouraged others to do the same in order to completely rob England of power.

Canada wondered if England held a grudge. If he was upset that it was _Canada_ who hammered the last nail in the coffin of the Empire.

He wondered if he hadn’t, if the revolution in England would still have happened.

And Canada thinks maybe it isn’t better that England can’t remember him.

~~~~~

America had left in complete annoyance, flipping over a chair as he did so. Canada regarded it a small miracle that he was still allowed around, considering America bullied his way past England’s new bosses and into his house.

Canada encouraged England to read some of his classics, hoping a sliver of poetry would unlock everything. While England sat and read in his wing backed chair, Canada paced, anxious without America’s bolster to fill the room.

“What’s in there?” Canada whipped around. England was pointing to a large trunk Canada had brought with him. America said to bring things that might bring England back, and Canada couldn’t think _England_ without remembering those days and nights in France.

Canada laughed nervously and flicked open the hatch. “Just some stuff from the last time we really talked.” Talked, a discussion between equals, not a yelling match over what the definition of _sovereignty_ is.

He reached in and pulled out his old uniform, holding it up and quirking an eyebrow expectantly. England shook his head, but as Canada was putting it aside, asked “what’s that red on the sleeve?”

Canada laughed at the odd combination of rectangles. “It’s supposed to be a maple leaf. I guess we thought it would distinguish us the most from the rest of the troops.”

England nodded slowly and murmured something about shoddy embroidery. Canada tactfully choose not to mention that function trumped fashion in battles. Or that it was England who sewed it on after the old patch was ripped.

He reached back into the trunk and fingered his rifle. The last gift England had ever given him, after realizing the Ross couldn’t fire.

Canada had been on that difficult edge between boy and man back then, face splotchy even before he hit the trenches, limbs too long for his frame and voice squeaking.

So when England showed him the proper method for firing, chest pressed to his back, low voice in his ear, Canada’s entire world focused on the glow in his belly and matching his breaths with England’s. The feeling was too much. Canada ultimately dropped his gun and turned to bury his face in England’s neck to muffle his sobs. England stilled for a moment before wrapping his arms securely around the smaller nation, whispering _I know, I know_ onto his helmet. _I know, it is not fair for you to be here_ , and Canada always thought that was the closest thing to an apology England was ever going to give him.

He felt warmth on his back and met England’s emerald eyes. He stopped his inhale while the other studied his face. A thumb came out to wipe away the tears Canada didn’t even realize he was crying.

“This makes you sad?” England asked, picking up the rifle and withdrawing.

Canada chuckled, hoping laughter might overwhelm crying. “Yeah. I just… can’t help but remember the death accompanied with it.”

England’s back was to him. “I suppose there are some things it is better not to recollect.”

Canada knew it would be dangerous to agree and instead asked, “Do you know how to use that thing?”

England struck a pose more suitable for hunting than killing Germans.

“No, no, no,” Canada came up behind him. “Look, you have to lower it more, don’t worry, when you’re close aiming won’t be an issue… and place your hands so when they’re really close you can use the bayonet.” Canada had his arms around England and pushed his body into a spearing motion. “It saves on bullets, just be ready to push the corpse off with your foot.”

England dropped the rifle and Canada struggled to catch it (unloaded, but still), arms continuing to circle the taller of the two.

Up close, England’s gaze was intense. He spoke softly. “I lied when I said I could no longer remember everything.” He lifted a hand to Canada’s face, pushing his gaping jaw shut. “I can recall all the different shades your eyes have changed to over the years. All the smiles you’ve ever given me. Whiskey breaks.” At this Canada mimicked England’s smile, only to disappear as quickly as it was formed. “However, I also remember loss when I look at you. And screams and death. And resentment. I do not know the events, but seeing you, all those feelings come back to the surface. You remind me of all I want to forget.”

This time, Canada couldn’t stop the tears, clinging to England’s shirt and wishing he, too, could forget.

**Author's Note:**

> (tumblr title: Consigned to Oblivion (With You))


End file.
